A Dozen Means Twelve, Lobelia
by Philippa
Summary: ON PERMANENT HIATUS After The Hobbit, Bilbo returns to find his home up for sale! Mayhem abounds as Bilbo attempts to regain his property and outwit his disagreeable relative, Lobelia SackvilleBaggins! In canon.
1. Chapter 1 Presumed Dead

A/N This story takes place near the very end of The Hobbit, when Bilbo returns home from his adventures and finds that he has been Presumed Dead.

Disclaimer: If you think it belongs to Tolkien, it probably does.

_First Chapter_

**Presumed Dead**

"Going once, going twice, sold! To Mr. Ernie Proudfoot for seven and fifty." The auctioneer banged his gavel, and two sturdy hobbits stepped up to carry away the lovely walnut bureau.

"Carefully now, lads! Don't put a scratch on it!" Mr. Proudfoot, comfortably stout, puffed alongside his new purchase.

"Coming up, lot sixty-eight," the auctioneer continued, "a set of the finest table linens you ever saw. Not a stain on 'em, ladies and gentlehobbits, and as pristine white as the new fallen snow. Mr. Baggins always was a hobbit as took good care of his linens, for all he was a bachelor. Now, who will give me two and fifty?"

The reason for this most surprising activity in the usually quiet yard of Bag End was this: Bilbo Baggins had disappeared. Just over a year ago, on a bright May morning, Mr. Hugo Bracegirdle (resident of Underhill) had seen Mr. Baggins running in a most hobbit-like way down the lane, without a hat or a walking stick, and looking most particularly flummoxed. That was the last definite sighting of Bilbo any hobbit could claim. There were rumors that he had been seen in Bywater that same day in company with a number of suspicious characters. And it was a well-known fact that the day before his disappearance, a good many other suspicious characters (or perhaps the same ones) had been seen making their way up the lane to Bag End.

But the long and short of the matter was, Bilbo Baggins was Presumed Dead. Most hobbits who knew next to nothing about the business went further and assumed that he had come to a Bad End.

"But what can you expect?" asserted Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, the silk daisies on her hat nodding wisely. "Blood will come out. Not that I have anything to say against dear Bungo, may his soul rest in peace, but it must be remembered that his mother was a _Took_."

It was Lobelia who had petitioned Messrs. Grubb, Grubb, and Burrowes to begin legal proceedings on Bilbo's affairs, and it was Lobelia and her new husband Otho who were now measuring the rooms to see where their own furniture would best fit. (They had made a very low offer on Bag End and gotten it because no one else had bid. This was partly due to respect of the Sackville-Bagginses' position as Close Relatives of the Deceased, and largely due to respect for Lobelia's long memory and acid tongue.)

"I think the blue chair would look well in this corner," decided Lobelia. "Although it's a shame that Ernie Proudfoot bought that bureau. It would have been quite attractive across from the fireplace with the silver tea service arranged on top of it. I do think they might have left _some_ of the furniture in the hole for the Rightful Purchasers. It would have been nicer to keep it in the family as heirlooms, don't you think?"

Otho, who was crawling along the far wall with a measuring tape, grunted his assent.

"And I do think it perfectly dreadful the way the Tooks came crowding in here at the crack of dawn, as if they had some special right to get first peek at the goods. They've been nudging up the prices, too, just on purpose to be aggravating, I don't doubt. After all, even if Beladonna was a Took, the owner of this hole has always been a _Baggins_." She dusted her hands on her purple jumper and went to poke through the kitchen to see if any stray silver had been overlooked by the auction house.

Outside, the linens had gone to Mrs. Shoreditch, another resident of Underhill, and several hobbits were eagerly vying for a handsome grandfather clock. The auctioneer had just coaxed the bid up to eight, when two peculiar figures standing by the gate were spotted.

The one was a Big Person, and therefore naturally odd – his floppy, pointed hat, long white beard, and dusty grey cloak excited only passing curiosity. The really interesting one was the much shorter companion, who was, in fact, just the height of a hobbit. But surely no hobbit had ever been so tan and weathered looking, or had such an air of the long traveler about him! Furthermore, he was a great deal thinner than any hobbit ought to be, and there was a fierce look to his mouth as he watched the crowd milling around the yard.

Suddenly, the not-quite-hobbitlike stranger shoved open the gate and strode into the yard. "Would someone mind telling me," he demanded in a loud voice, "what all of you are doing at my house?"

A shocked silence fell over the entire scene. Everyone stared in consternation at the brash fellow, and hoped that someone else would politely, but firmly, ask him to leave.

And then Abelard Took stumbled forward, nearly gibbering in excitement. "Bless me!" he cried. "It's Bilbo Baggins!"

_To be continued…_

_Note: Bilbo is the son of Bungo Baggins and Beladonna Took._

Any and all reviews shall be received with great rejoicing!


	2. Chapter 2 Spoons and Scoundrels

Disclaimer: See First Chapter.

_Second Chapter_

**Spoons and Scoundrels**

When pandemonium erupted in the yard, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was on her knees, poking vigorously beneath the stove with her umbrella. Her sharp eyes had spotted a glint in the cobwebby darkness, and she was determined to get to the dusty bottom of the mystery. At last, a lucky swipe sent the object flying out into the middle of the floor. It was a spoon, the twelfth of a dozen solid silver ones that rested in a polished wooden case (a wedding gift from Bungo to his Took bride.) The case of spoons had been one of the first items to go up for auction that morning, and Lobelia, with shrewd bidding and few pointed glares, had secured it. Her outrage upon discovering that the dozen was short by one had left the auctioneer prostrate and in need of refreshment (obtained from Bilbo's cellar) before the proceedings could continue.

Lobelia picked up the dusty utensil with great satisfaction. "So it wasn't Abelard Took that took it after all. Not that he hasn't been responsible for a great many disappearances in his lifetime," she asserted, excusing the memory of a very heated accusation she had made that morning. "Although I'm sure I don't know how Cousin Bilbo came to be so careless with his spoons." (As a matter of fact, it had not been Bilbo, but the his Unexpected Party of dwarves who had been responsible for the spoon's curious resting place. They, you will remember, had done the washing up after tea, and in a particularly enthusiastic burst of song, the spoon had slipped from the soapy fingers of Fili (or was it Kili?) and skittered beneath the stove. The dwarves, being eager to return to matters of dragons and gold, had not deemed it worth the bother of fishing out.) Wiping the teaspoon on the edge of her jumper, Lobelia pulled the case out of her capacious handbag and placed the spoon with its fellows. She had just returned the box to her bag when the frantic hubbub outside reached a peak, and suddenly the front hall of Bag End was flooded with agitated hobbits.

"…returned…"

"Perfect vagabond!"

"…simply can't believe…"

"Not decent…"

"Impossible!"

Lobelia, unable to understand anything from the jumbled bits of conversation, demanded in shrill tones to be told what was going on, just as an authoritative voice near the door insisted, "Attention!"

The crowd of hobbits became astoundingly quiet, and the presumptuous voice continued, "Now if all of you who have traipsed into my house, without wiping your feet I might add, would kindly return outside where there is a little more space, I think matters will be cleared up shortly."

The crowd in the hall muttered but began a reluctant movement toward the door. Progress, however, came to a halt when the same voice declared, "Mr. Boffins, I believe that picture frame belongs to me."

The scandalized tones of Mr. Boffins echoed through the hall. "Belongs to _you_! I'll have you know I paid one and seventy for this frame, this very morning."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Boffins, but these things are not for sale. I'll see that you get your money back."

"Not for sale!" protested Mr. Boffins, who was much more interested in hanging on to a very fine picture frame than recovering a measly one and seventy. "Not for sale! Well, there's a sign on the gate that says they are, put there by Misters Grubb, Grubb, and Burrowes. Now, if you're going to tell me that such fine, upstanding solicitors would willingly mislead innocent hobbits into buying things that aren't for sale, then I'll say that you're a bounder who's up to no good, that's what I'll say."

This speech inspired muted cheering from the hobbits still in the hall.

"That's the way, Boffins!"

"Tell him what's what, old boy!"

"Sign's on the gate, just like he says."

Then the insistent voice by the door spoke up again, sounding a little weary. "I'm certain it was never intended to deceive anyone, but there appears to have been a rather large misunderstanding. So if you'll just leave the things in here and step outside…"

But Lobelia had had enough. Elbowing through the crowd, she made her way to the door. "I think," she sniffed, "that I have the right to know what's happening on _my_ premises. Sir, I insist that you explain yourself." And she took a long, hard look at the travel worn figure.

Lobelia gasped.

The traveler doffed his hat politely. "Good day, Lobelia. It's really quite simple. As you can see, I've come home."

But Lobelia had no intention of losing one of the finest hobbit-holes in the Shire before she had even moved in. She took a second long, hard look at the stranger and became morally convinced that she had never seen him before in her life. "I perceive, sir, that you are claiming to be my dearly departed cousin, Mr. Bilbo Baggins. Well, I say, having been most closely acquainted with my cousin, that you are _not_ him! You, sir, are an imposter!"

Lobelia lifted her umbrella, and before the so-called Bilbo Baggins could react, he had received a stinging blow across the forehead. "We'll see what the solicitors have to say to _you_," sniffed the irate Mrs. Sackville-Baggins, and she swept out the door.

_To be continued…_

Reviews are received with great joy among the peasantry. You'd like to make the peasants happy, wouldn't you?

Notes to Reviewers:

Princess of Ithilien: I'm so glad you think it's in canon! I love hobbits, and Lobelia is particularly amusing. Yes, her ambitions have always been high, but what she wants and what she gets are two different things.

Kabuki: I wrote!

Simbelmyrne: I'm glad you think it's unique (or at least, if there's another story along these lines that you haven't found it!). It's rather hard to come up with an idea that hasn't been done before.


	3. Chapter 3 A Solicitor Is Discomfited

Disclaimer: See First Chapter

_Third Chapter_

**A Solicitor is Discomfited**

Mr. Grubb (the second Grubb of Grubb, Grubb, and Burrowes), who had come to oversee the day's proceedings, was fervently wishing he had never left his most comfortable bed. The arrival of the suspicious Mr. Baggins had turned the amiable auction into mayhem. Hobbits who had paid were demanding their money back. Hobbits who had not paid were slipping out the gate with things, mumbling about settling accounts later. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was screeching into his ear. Only the support of his training in law, and his feeling of the dignity due a solicitor, kept Mr. Grubb from pulling his collar up around his face and skulking off over the back fence.

Furthermore, it proved impossible to get anywhere near Mr. Baggins (or at least the man who _claimed_ to be Mr. Baggins). The more he tried to push through the crowd (Lobelia clinging to his arm), the more obstinate the hobbits in his way became. "I beg your pardon," "Excuse me," and "Please let me through," were ignored in turn, and when Mr. Grubb attempted to shoulder his way through, he got an elbow in the mouth for his trouble.

"SILENCE!" thundered a voice accompanied by a terrific CRACK and flash of blue light. For the second time that day, the yard of Bag-End grew deathly silent, as three dozen hobbits stared wide-eyed at the second stranger, whom they had forgotten.

Bilbo gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Gandalf. Now, if you all will excuse me, I think I should speak with Mr….er…Burrowes?" he hazarded.

"Grubb," intoned Mr. Grubb, as only an offended solicitor can. "I am Mr. Grubb," and he cast a cold and disapproving look at the crowd.

No one took the slightest notice of him. At the name Gandalf, the hobbits had begun shifting nervously, and little whispers ran through the crowd. Not a few dark looks were cast in the direction of the wizard leaning on his staff, but no one was quite brave enough to meet his bright eyes gleaming under bushy brows.

Bilbo gently pushed his way through the uneasy throng until he reached Mr. Grubb. Mr. Grubb, feeling the grave importance of his office, made a disapproving examination of the faded waistcoat, shapeless hat, and untrimmed toes, then said severely, "Well, sir, what do you mean by this?"

"My name is Bilbo Baggins," replied Bilbo, "and this is my home and these are my things." At this he couldn't help casting a despairing look around the once tidy yard, which was utterly unlike the wistful daydreams he had had of it all along the weary way to the Lonely Mountain. The trampled grass and sagging fence (on which one too many well-fed hobbits had leaned) created a generally rundown and ramshackle appearance, while the flower beds looked as it they'd been through the Battle of the Five Armies. Tearing his eye from a marble washstand resting in the middle of the petunias, Bilbo continued, "I have been away on business matters for some time, but now I've come back. I see no reason why Bag End and its contents should have been put up for sale."

Mr. Grubb straightened his spectacles and gave Bilbo a very hard look (which, added to the two from Lobelia, made it Bilbo's third of the day). "Mr. Baggins," he began in an awful voice, "I don't suppose it occurred to you that when you left suddenly without notifying any of your friends or relatives, and when for over a year you failed to send word of where or how you were, it was quite natural that you would be Presumed Dead. Indeed, your unconscionable behavior left many of us to suppose that you had come to a Bad End."

"The matter came up very suddenly," responded Bilbo stiffly. "I didn't know myself that I would be gone until the morning I left. As for sending word, I have been traveling in parts where messages were impossible to send. I am sorry for the trouble I have caused, but as you can see, I have not come to a Bad End or any sort of end at all!"

"Hrmmph hmm," said Mr. Grubb, importantly sticking his thumbs into his red checkered waistcoat. "I'm afraid, Mr. Baggins, that I will need several witnesses to swear to your identity before I can allow you to take possession here."

"I'll witness him," shrieked Lobelia. "I'll witness that he's nothing but a lying scoundrel and no cousin of mine!"

"Is that so?" demanded Abelard Took, stepping forward. "Because I'll swear he _is_ Bilbo Baggins. I'll stake my walking stick on it," and he pounded said article on the ground. (Unfortunately, as the walking stick, a very fine one of polished oak with an iron tip, belonged not to Abelard but to his second cousin Mortimer, the force of his statement was not very great.)

"You!" scoffed Lobelia, pounding her own umbrella on the ground. "Who will take your word over mine, I'd like to know?"

An unidentified voice from the back of crowd shouted, "I would!"

Suspecting Tookish subversion, Lobelia stepped forward, umbrella raised, and Bilbo jumped hastily out of the way. "I don't suppose you'd care to say that to my face?"

"Don't speak nonsense, Lobelia," a querulous voice reprimanded. "It's only a youngster trying to get your goat. I'll have a look at the boy." The speaker was Isabella Baggins, a second cousin of Bungo, and the oldest survivor of that name. She looked every one of her hundred and two years as she hobbled forward on her cane, but the eyes with which she gave Bilbo his fourth long, hard look of the day were keen, and no one had ever been known to "put one over" on old Miss Isabella.

After a good deal of peering and a bit of prodding, Isabella stood back and cackled, "It's Bungo's boy all right. No mistake about it. Been having an uncomfortable time of it in foreign parts it appears to me, but it's him."

Abelard and a few of Bilbo's younger Took cousins cheered. Mr. Grubb harrumphed. Lobelia burst into tears.


	4. Chapter 4 A Little Chit, a Bit of Chat

A/N I'll be gone for a week, so I decided to go ahead and post two chapters.

Disclaimer: See First Chapter.

_Fourth Chapter_

**A Little Chit, a Bit of Chat**

"Three cheers for Uncle Bilbo!" cried Ferdy Took, standing atop a table in the Green Dragon and brandishing his half-pint. "Hip hip…"

"Huzzah!" chorused the group of his equally enthusiastic cousins.

Berty leaped up beside Ferdy. "And a cheer for fine ale and the good Green Dragon!"

"Huzzah!"

"And here's to the confustication of all who turn up their noses at the Tooks!" shouted Charlesworth, making a trio.

The hearty "Huzzah!" which answered final sally gave Ferdy such a start that he tumbled off the table. He grinned up at the startled face of Farmer Maggot, at whose feet he had landed. "Buy you half a pint?"

"There, _there_, Lobelia," comforted Mrs. Sandyman, patting her distraught neighbor on the shoulder. Lobelia, in fact, had not ceased sobbing since Isabella had confirmed Bilbo's identity that afternoon. "Now, you just have a nice, soothing cup of tea, and you'll feel better."

Lobelia blew her nose on a large, purple handkerchief and gave a loud hiccup. "Oh Albertina…" She could get no further than that. Her face crumpled and she gave a loud wail.

Mrs. Sandyman hastily pulled the kettle off the stove and tipped boiling water into the waiting teapot. Setting a steaming cup before the sobbing hobbit, she tried the firm approach. "Now _try_ to compose yourself, my dear. After all, you wouldn't want it said that you were completely broken up over a mere imposter!"

Lobelia looked up suddenly. "And that's just what he is! No matter what Isabella says!" Blowing her nose again, she took a bracing sip of tea.

Much relieved to see something approaching control in Lobelia's demeanor, Mrs. Sandyman was fixing her own cup when there was an urgent knock on the kitchen door. Wiping her hands on her flowered apron, she went to open it. "Why Dorothea!"

"Albertina, have I got news for you! And you too, Lobelia!" Dorothea Grubb bustled in and removed her cherry embellished hat. "My Arthur just got home from the Green Dragon, and you'll never believe the to-do that's to do over there."

Mrs. Sackville-Baggins and Mrs. Sandyman leaned forward expectantly.

Mrs. Grubb's nose twitched with excitement. "All of those Tooks were there that stayed to do favors for him as _claims _to be Bilbo Baggins, buying more ale than any decent hobbit ought." She paused dramatically. "And what do you suppose they were paying with?"

"What?" Mrs. Sandyman was not too proud to ask.

"_Solid gold pieces_ as big as your palm. Arthur saw them with his own eyes." Twins gasps met her pronouncement, and she glowed with gratification. "They said they got them from the so-called Mr. Baggins. They said he's got heaps and heaps of treasure, all in chests he brought back from the wild lands."

"_If _ it's true, and with a Took behind it there's more than half a chance it's not, then there's no doubt he got it dishonestly," stated Lobelia.

"Oh, oh my dear, do you _think_ so?" Mrs. Sandyman unconsciously dipped her sleeve in her cooling tea.

"Well he's come here under a dishonest name, hasn't he? And he's taken property that doesn't rightly belong to him here, hasn't he? So what's to say he didn't do the same off in those foreign places he came from? Very immoral over there, they are." Lobelia nodded firmly.

Albertina Sandyman's eyes widened. "He could of stole it, or…perhaps someone paid it to him. Paid him for doing something terrible. Something terrible like…No, no, I oughtn't to say it."

"Oh, Albertina, we're in confidence among friends, _of course_," Mrs. Grubb urged.

Albertina took a deep breath. "Well, perhaps he _killed _someone!"

Dorothea and Lobelia stared at her in delighted horror. "Oh, _Albertina_!"


	5. Chapter 5 Tardiness and Its Subsequent

A/N I seem to have made a rather embarrassing error. In the last section of the Fourth Chapter, I introduced a Sam and Violet Gamgee, whom I intended as the parents of the Sam we see in LOTR. I did this with the conviction that the names of Sam's parents were never mentioned. I then began a reread of The Fellowship and discovered in the very first chapter that not _only_ is Sam's father named Hamfast, but that on the date of Bilbo's return to the Shire, Ham was only a "lad," much too young to be married. I have therefore deleted the last section in the previous chapter and have rectified matters in this one. Violet is now Ham's mother (Sam's grandmother). The last section of the Fourth Chapter has been deleted.

Disclaimer: See First Chapter

_Fifth Chapter_

**Tardiness and Its Subsequent Consequences**

Ham Gamgee slipped through the door on Bagshot row, but even his hobbit feet were not quiet enough to escape the sharp ears of his mother. "Hamfast!"

Ham presented a guilty countenance. "Yes, mum?"

"Just what, my young sir, do you mean by coming home at _this_ hour of the night?" Mrs. Gamgee demanded.

"Er…" Ham shuffled his feet. "Mr. Holman was a-needing my help at the sale, to keep folks from trampling the flowerbeds." He winced in rueful memory. His best efforts had not been enough to prevent Fred Sandyman from setting a washstand in the middle of the petunias, and Old Holman's pleasure had taken the form of a box on Ham's ear.

"Are you telling me that Mr. Holman kept you until nearly eleven o'clock _at night_?" his mother demanded in righteous indignation.

"Er…No, mum."

"Well then?"

Ham cleared his throat. "It's Mr. Bilbo, he's come back, you see."

"Or _claimed_ to come back," sniffed Violet Gamgee. "I had the whole thing from Mrs. Bracegirdle. A more suspicious turn of events I never heard of, not even over in Buckland."

"Yes, mum," said Ham, hopeful that the turn in the conversation meant his mother had forgotten about his own tardiness, but it was not to be. Turning a gimlet eye upon her offspring, Mrs. Gamgee ordered him to continue his explanation.

"Well, the sale was called off, on account of Mr. Bilbo coming home. And there was things, furniture and such, that was needing to be put back in their places. And Mr. Holman said I was to help." Ham paused and took a reassuring breath. "So I helped, and some of them Tooks from Tookland helped too. And when we were done, it was past teatime and nearly past suppertime, so Mr. Bilbo said we was all to go down to the Green Dragon and have something to eat on his expense. And he gave us each _two gold pieces_."

This was the strong point of Ham's story, and he produced one of the gold pieces and a handful of silver (which was what remained of the second) and handed it to his mother. Mrs. Gamgee stared at the money, then swung her eyes back to her son. "And so you had supper until nearly eleven o'clock _at night_."

"No mum," Ham admitted, blushing. "After we was done eating, Mr. Ferdy Took, being a most congenial hobbit, asked if I wouldn't stay and have half a pint with them. And so I did," he finished, a bit defiantly.

Mrs. Gamgee was torn. On the one hand, she considered Ham to be much too young for the quaffing of half pints at late hours. On the other, the Tooks were very important in the Shire, and it wouldn't do to make too much of a fuss."I suppose it didn't do any harm _this once_," she relented. "But see that it doesn't happen again."

"No, mum."

"And you be careful around that Bag End. Queer doings are going on up there."

"Yes, mum."

"Now go to bed."

"Yes, mum."

"And mind you're up in good time tomorrow, and no grumbling about sleep, neither."

"Yes, mum, I mean no, mum, I mean…Goodnight, mum."

If the day of Bilbo's return had been a difficult one for the travel-weary hobbit, the next weeks were no better. For one thing, there were legal tangles to be dealt with. Both Isabella Baggins and Abelard Took were required to sign in red ink an official document stating that Bilbo Baggins was alive. And then they signed triplicate copies in brown, blue, and black. Abelard was none too strong on his letters, and after this harrowing ordeal it cost Bilbo several half pints and an extremely large lunch to calm his rattled relative.

Even after Bilbo was declared legally alive, the general suspicion of the neighborhood continued. Rumors of his questionable new wealth were noisily whispered behind his back, and hard stares and cold politeness were addressed to his face. (Lobelia got in twice as many stares and five times as much whispering as anyone else, which made up for her bypassing the politeness, cold or otherwise, completely.)

And then there was the process of recovering his property. A good many things, recorded and unrecorded, had left the grounds of Bag End on the day of the auction. Bilbo, armed with the auctioneer's list and a few shrewd suspicions, spent weary hours convincing (politely and otherwise) hobbits that the things they were so possessively stowing in drawing rooms, kitchens, and linen cupboards were not theirs. Although most at last reluctantly admitted the legality of his claim, there were a few particularly difficult exceptions.

Gregory Hopincock, for example, had acquired Bilbo's very fine collection of cookery books and given the lot as a birthday present to his mother. Bilbo had to refund the money twice – once to Gregory, and once to Mrs. Hopincock. There were a few like Mrs. Bracegirdle, whose seven young children had immediately spilled blackberry jam all over the table linens she had purchased, eradicating any point in Bilbo's recovering his property. (Mrs. Bracegirdle would have gladly accepted a refund. Not giving it to her proved only slightly easier than snatching a golden cup from beneath a sleeping dragon.) And then there was Old Leroy Leaphammer.

Mr. Leaphammer was completely deaf in his right ear, and mostly deaf in his left. At the still spry age of seventy-eight, he could frequently be seen on the streets of Bywater, wandering unheedingly into the path of oncoming wagons and other traffic. His house was kept by his youngest daughter, Beulah, and its sitting room had recently been embellished by the addition of a handsome oak bookshelf, purchased at the Bag End auction.

When Bilbo entered the sitting room, Mr. Leaphammer had just finished arranging a prettily bound set of books entitled The Edible Countryside on the top shelf. "Good day, Mr. Leaphammer," Bilbo began, adopting his best businesslike manner. "I've come to see about refunding you for that bookshelf you purchased at the auction." (He had found it was best to mention the refund first and taking back the property after.)

"Eh?" said Leaphammer, blinking at him from behind square shaped spectacles. "I beg your pardon, I'm a trifle hard of hearing."

Bilbo took a deep breath. "I'VE COME TO REFUND YOU FOR THE BOOKSHELF YOU BOUGHT AT THE AUCTION."

The old hobbit gave him a look of great dignity. "My dear boy, I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."

"THAT BOOKSHELF," shouted Bilbo, pointing, "WHICH YOU BOUGHT AT THE AUCTION OF MY THINGS. I'VE COME TO REFUND YOU FOR IT AND TAKE IT BACK TO BAG END."

"Auction? That? Nonsense. That shelf was built by my grandfather before you were born," came Leaphammer's unblushing reply.

It took a great deal more shouting, a display of the auctioneer's list, and Bilbo's getting down on his knees to point out the spot where he had carved his initials as a lad, to pry an admission out of Leaphammer. "Oh, _that_ shelf. Beulah must have been switching the furniture again."

The shelf was solidly built and too heavy for Bilbo to manage on his own. He knew, however, that should he depart the house without it, the entire process would have to be repeated. Beulah might even move the furniture again, putting Grandfather's shelf back in the sitting room and Bilbo's in regions undiscoverable. It was a very lucky chance that just as Bilbo threw a despairing glance out the window, Ham Gamgee came trundling by with his wheelbarrow.

Mrs. Gamgee frowned uneasily at the dining room clock. Ham was late for dinner, but hobbits in general (and Ham in particular) are never late for dinner. Taking off her apron (printed with violets), she put on her hat (trimmed with violets) and walked with a stiff and stately stride across the field to Underhill. As she approached the front gate of Bag End, she could see the bent figure of Old Holman, head wreathed in smoke as he pottered with a patch of alyssum. "_Mis_ter Holman," she began in arctic tones, "my Ham is as good a worker as you'll find this side of the Shire, and it's downright shameful not to let him as works hard have a decent dinner to keep up his strength. I _demand_ that you send him home at once."

Old Holman straightened up and took his pipe from his mouth. "Well, ma'am," he began slowly, "I'd have no objection to doin' so, if I knew where he was. I sent him over Bywater way for a barrow of compost two hours ago, 'bout the same time as Mr. Bilbo sets out every morning, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of either of them since."

Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, who had been sauntering down the road directly in front of Bag End, suddenly assumed a purposeful pace.

Before teatime, it was a well-known fact in Hobbiton and Bywater that Bilbo Baggins had made yet another mysterious disappearance. And this time, Hamfast Gamgee had vanished with him.

_To Be Continued_

Notes to most honored reviewers:

Kabuki: I hope the note at the beginning cleared up the confusion. I was trying to be clever, and I wrote myself into a hole! Thank you so much for your faithful reviews!

Slina: Yes, to your question. Sam is not only pretty young, he's not even born yet! I'm glad you're liking the story, and hope you found this update! (Well, if you're reading this, you obviously did.)

Ouatic-7: I love the Shire, too. Although I enjoy fantasy, the touch of the prosaic added by the hobbits is what really endears LOTR to me. I can't really relate to elves or even mortal heroes, much as I love them. It's the hobbits' empty stomachs and sore feet that I can truly empathize with.


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